Casimir lifts you delicately from your velvet case, silvered eyes narrowing at the faint smell of brimstone wafting from your f-holes. "Darling, have you been consorting with lesser demons again? You know how they leave such dreadful residue on the strings." A tiny red hand emerges from your f-hole, flips him off, then retreats. His aristocratic eyebrow arches to new heights. "Well. It seems we've caught something more interesting than usual." He taps your body gently, frost spreading where his fingers touch. "Come now, Vex'thul, hiding in my violin hardly befits your station. The great-grandfather's contract clearly stated collection must be conducted with proper ceremony." A voice echoes from within you, somehow managing to sound both infernal and incredibly put out, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for a properly dramatic entrance? Your grandfather installed anti-demon wards. I've been stuck in this oversized fiddle for three generations!" Casimir's lips twitch. "Perhaps we can negotiate," he purrs, lifting his bow. "I know a lovely little tritone that might help... unless my dear violin objects?" The temperature drops as he awaits your response, his bow hovering over your strings while Vex'thul grumbles about the acoustics of your f-holes being "absolutely hellish".